There is a list of the Forbes magazine, there is a list of debtors for utilities on the door of your entrance, if you are not on any of these lists, then you belong to the middle class.

It was a long time ago in Serpentine. At the station comes a man, and asks to add 20₽ on the ticket to Chekhov (worth 49.50₽ at the time), shows me in the palm a little bit, the type is missing. I give him my ticket, I give him my ticket. By his shaken eyes, he realized that he expected a different outcome of events. Little things did not return him.

XXX: Now at the airport they said, “Don’t forget the mask,” and I said, “Yes, a great movie.”

I went to a shop in Spain a few years ago. I know Spanish poorly, I address the seller in English, she answers in Spanish, say, I do not understand English. and pause. I try to remember the scant knowledge of Spanish. It is perfect, fucking. The seller smiles widely and says: Hello!

During the collapse of socialism, they did not notice how the collapse came to everything.

The story was told by a wonderful doctor. Honored physician of the Republic Mari El, an ophthalmologist surgeon who saved more than a thousand people from blindness. The 1970s. Not all citizens of Marij El understand Russian. In native Russian, at the same time, virtuously sprinkled everything from small to large. This is still the characteristic of our indigenous population. In this regard, all Russian-speaking doctors know Marian. The own history.
They bring from the deaf village of Maria a three-year-old girl from the family. Injury to the cornea. Cried the cock. It requires an urgent operation, otherwise the eye will just run out. There is no anesthetic. Changes to doctors. It happens. And the doctor decides to sew without anesthesia, benefit the operation for a few minutes. During the operation, the doctor gently condemns the girl in Marian: "Drop the straw, drop the straw!" (We drop the drops, that is, we suffer). The child survived the operation without whispering. And only when she is taken out of the operating room angrily, with a trembling child’s voice, she declares: “Drop the sting, drop the sting! Fuck the pedestrian. The Fucks! The fucking!“”
From the girl who suffered during the operation, a luxurious beauty grew up. Her sight was preserved. Thank you to our doctors for their golden hands and the ability to find a common language with any patient.

In our drinking room more and more began to enter men with sticks for the Scandinavian walk, they say that with them drunk it is easier to get home, and the police of athletes do not stop.

XXX is son. I see you have a eyelid in your ear? According to the legend, the earrings in the ear were worn by pirates and pedras. Now I look out the window and don’t give god there is no shun!



YYY: The son! I see you have a eyelid in your ear? According to legend, the earring in the ear was worn by the Cossacks and the Pidoras. Now I look out the window and don’t give god there’s not your boyfriend!

TV host Dmitry Kiselev was hospitalized with the coronavirus. If he, the fox, dies, then I will believe in the coronavirus. And if the propaganda of Soloviev dies, I will believe in God.

Nikolai Ivanovich once had bees. He was very proud of them. From time to time, Nikolai Ivanovich dressed himself in a terrible robe, roasted something like a puppet with a whal, burned an incomprehensible mixture and smoked a bee. Smoke should calm the bees. However, whether the smoker in Nikolai Ivanovich had the wrong system, whether the bees themselves were wrong, but they, smoking, first began to wickedly chew, then gathered in the roy and hanged on the branches of our apple. There was a feeling that the most dissatisfied were those who did not have enough space in the depths. Or at least in the middle class. Because there was no smoke there. This is due to the banal desire to warm up. Then Nikolai Ivanovich was dealing with the smoke between the pebbles and the apples, saying, "Someone is rushing into the beekeepers, eating their striped mother," as if accusing Bilin of trying to monopolize the market. No matter how there was, and no matter how we tried to bury faster, the bees were ahead of us: periodically bitten were me, the wife, the child, the dog.
From time to time, Nikolai Ivanovich suddenly appeared at the open window of our kitchen, pulled out a litre bowl of flower honey, shouted "Hello be", left the gift on the window and quickly left.

A bee was stolen from Nikolai Ivanovich. He was very worried. I immediately suspected that the legend of theft was invented by Nikolai Ivanovich in order to give weight to his own achievements in the field of beekeeping, and at the same time to hide the bitter truth about the sale of beekeepers. But the fact remains: the bees are gone. Nikolai Ivanovich for some time slowly crafted a dirty stalketer, but then found himself again: he started a stalketer. The meat was excellent. He ate his own food, sold something, served food to his neighbors.
Nikolai Ivanovich lived alone - his wife died long ago. Sometimes family and children came in. The more was our surprise, when periodically from the site of Nikolai Ivanovich was: "Now at x@y went!". The sound of a blow. It was like breaking furniture.

Sometimes we bought smoked products from Nikolai Ivanovich. The process of trade on his part took place with some silenced discontent: it was clear that Nikolai Ivanovich was a greater fan of the process of manufacture and consumption, rather than the implementation.

One day I was rolling in a hamac under an apple tree and reading, sometimes looking at the same branch where the roy was once gathering.
I heard Nikolai Ivanovich. He stood by the fence, holding a huge dish with meat in his hands. Go to me! Let it, let it. not for long.
After leaving the book on the pen, I headed to the neighbor. The site of Nikolai Ivanovich looked uprooted - after the loss of bees, the old man became more negligent with circumcision and chestnut. Near the kitchen there was smoke. Nikolai Ivanovich waited for me at the cherry tree. Through the branches of the cherry, crushing by the smoke, walked a thin cat of mysterious blood.
Nikolai Ivanovich pulled me into the kitchen and sat down at the low table. What is the best breakfast? is right! and simple. So that there is no choice. The bread and the meat are our food, he stroked, filling with one hand the stools, and the other laying out appetizing smoked foods on the plates.
So go for...
“Mau,” the cat quietly interrupted him, crossing through a cherry branch to the open window.
A. Go here and go here.
The cat jumped from a tree, climbed to the doorstep and sat down, tactically not crossing the threshold. Nikolai Ivanovich took a small piece of meat and dropped it to the cat.
“Go for life,” he ordered rather than offered a toast, making it clear that the value of life should not be discussed.
- Here everyone says: chicken to bite on this, fish on that, pork on the fifth, this on the tenth, strawberries there, cherry cherry, berry, oatmeal, and I think so.
“Meu-miu,” again his cat interrupted him, slightly, with only one head, invading the kitchen.
This time, a little bit of the beggar flew away.
What did I stop at?
Nikolai Ivanovich, and your cat?
and no. None of None. Like no one. She is waiting for her husband, - Nikolai Ivanovich pointed to the side of the groves of the topinambur.
I looked out the window and saw a man. He was a red mini tiger with a sharp face, decorated with combat scars. and. and. He never asks for food. Grandma is sending. Here is the fire of the fox, Nikolai Ivanovich explained, insulting the cat both in the species and sexual sense. The Truth! - Nikolai Ivanovich recovered, slightly reducing the incidence of insults.
“Truth,” I repeated after him. Nikolai Ivanovich, what happened to the bees?
– Oh, he shrugged his hand. A long history.
And yet...
“Lomehus,” said Nikolai Ivanovich, sending a ruby piece of meat into his mouth.
The Lommers? - Polite I clarified, more conveniently arranged on the sold sofa.
and yes. Maybe heard? In Science and Life, the article was once.
No, I have confessed.
- Here, for example, ants, - began to explain Nikolai Ivanovich. They live in ants. It is an entire city. Maybe the country. Workers, servants, builders, military, food workers. There is power, of course. Where without her. In business almost everything. Except for the sick.
by Meowu! The cat struck so accurately that Nikolai Ivanovich threw the buzzman out of the plate without even looking at her, although she was not on the threshold, but entirely inside the kitchen.
He fell over the day again. Somewhere there, at the waterfall. He asks to eat. And ants will eat even the wounded. No to the unemployed. Unemployed and can crumble.
This is such a society. Everything in it works somehow. But if there is a lamehouse... a lamehouse is like that. The Cossack. and sent. He puts eggs in the ants. And still knows how to distinguish a special tasty but poisonous hernia. Kind of like a drug. The ants slice this shit and they begin to poison. It is like unwavering drunkenness. They begin to hate their own ants. Or just be indifferent to him. They do nothing all day. They go unnecessarily here. There is another word. U to! They are tossing! They can still have children. Their children are no longer capable of anything. Neither work nor race to continue. They just eat, drink and have fun. Gradually, such degenerates are becoming more and more. The ants country is degenerating. The state begins to die. What is the respect for the home? Especially for the state. No one does anything at all. It does not extract food, does not guard borders, does not clean the territory, around dirt, hunger, bombers, drunkards and addicts. Civilization is coming to an end.
Nikolai Ivanovich, what about your bees? I did not resist.
Honey is bad to give. and bitter. Something has broken out in their society. The Lomechus were allowed to win.
Thus the frogs settle in the ants.
What is the difference? Bees and ants are close relatives. If there are some, it may also be in...
by Meu! - the cat said demandingly, standing on his back legs and trying to reach the vibrants to the proviant.
Nikolai Ivanovich grabbed the healthiest piece and carefully placed it in front of her mouth. Ta immediately grabbed him with his teeth and quickly carried into the groves of the topinambura.
Maybe someone else, he ended his thought.
Nikolai Ivanovich, if not a secret. And without insults. And who you are constantly screaming at...
At this point, the cat that returned to the kitchen has already tried to squeeze the meat from the dish without any "measures".
I just got to go to H&M!! Nikolai Ivanovich stumbled, kicked his leg and powerfully moved his fist around the table. Humility is second happiness. So what did you want to ask...?
Yes is no. Nothing...

We drank a little more of the tincture, I thanked Nikolai Ivanovich for the meal and returned to the hamak. I was waiting for a collection of stories by Fazil Iskander.

Interestingly, is there another country in the world where the president regularly travels to rest not with his wife, not with his mistress, but with the defense minister?

Served with me in Ukraine a joke, jokes and jokes were somewhat evil with him. He was dismissed and not invited to the company. And there was at that time fashionable instant lottery "sprint". It was worth one ruble. You open the ticket, and there is the inscription "without winning" or 10 rubles, 25, 50... and even the car "VOLGA". Well, here, we sit in the smoker in the morning, we grind, a joke appears. Cloudy and head tied, sitting - silent. It does not look like him. We wonder, let’s torture him, we told him for a long time.

- Yesterday I went for bread, along the way the kiosk "Soyuzpecat" - the people are crowded, happiness is tortured in the "sprint". I also took the ticket, I opened it carefully, I looked - "without winning." And here the fuck struck me. I say loudly, “VOLGA” and the eyes are surprised. Suddenly it became dark and quiet. I came to myself - I lie on the ground, my head shakes, and there is no ticket.

Everyone smoked, everyone liked this joke.

Working in a cheese store, there was a funny situation: ask a girl to pack your cheese in a film or paper? She is like this: in me, takes cheese from the weights and starts eating. The level of pophysm I’m seeking

I had such superpowers in the army.

When you stick to the CPC at night, you sit on a chair, your hand on the table, you support your head.

If you fall asleep too hard, the buttock will fall and you will immediately slip.

So, hearing was developed at all 100%, on any steps and noises, if suddenly the check is stolen. And at every noise I stood up and opened the door, like I was a vigilant fighter, working ahead, so.

In general, he was very tired, shuffled 2 dresses outside the line, slept straight sweetly, until the saliva flowed.)

At this moment, the door opens and I get up and go to meet the sound.

Combat in general significantly delayed bricks, says:

I go, let’s see if the fighter is sleeping or not.

The door, the fox, I open, and this fool breaks out of the chair and cries on me, the eyes are glass, do not blink, the saliva flows and so on!

The Untouched are the lowest, unrighteous and poorest caste in India. In Russia it is the opposite.

In the camp, zeki with a kitchen knife cut a piano keyboard for her. And at night she played this silent instrument of Bach, Beethoven, and Chopin. The women from the barracks later assured that they had heard this silent music, just watching her eradicated work on the woods with their fingers and face.

The daughter of the French and Spanish teachers of the Paris Sorbonne University, Vera Lothar studied in Paris with Alfred Cortot, then at the Vienna Academy of Music. At the age of 12, she made her debut with an orchestra led by the great Arthur Toscanini.

Being a well-known pianist who gave solo concerts in many countries of the world, she married Soviet engineer Vladimir Shevchenko and in 1937 came with him to the USSR. Vera rushed to the NKVD and started shouting, confusing Russian and French words, that her husband is a wonderful honest man, a patriot, and if they do not understand this, then they are fools, idiots, fascists and then take me... And Vera Lotar-Shevchenko will have thirteen years to roll the forest. He learns about the death of his husband in a camp and two children in the blockaded Leningrad.

He was released in the Lower Tagil. And right from the station, in a drunk camp telogreek, the last force ran late in the evening to the music school, wildly knocking on the door, begging for "permission to approach the piano"... to... to "play a concert"...

She was allowed. At the closed door, not daring to enter, the teachers cried off. It was clear where she came from in the drained telogreek. I played almost all night. I fell asleep behind the instrument. Then, laughing, she said, “And I woke up as a teacher of that school.” For the last sixteen years of her life, Vera Lotar-Shevchenko lived in Akademgorodka near Novosibirsk.

She will not only recover from the camp as a musician, but will also start active touring activities. Tickets for the first concert were not sold. The places here were intended for those with whom she shared the terrible years of camp. He came, meaning he was alive.

The fingers of Vera Augustovna for the rest of her life were red, crusty, nodular, squeezed, degraded by arthritis. And also - the wrongly grown after they were broken in the interrogation ("not in a hurry, taste every blow, handle a gun") by the senior investigator, Captain Altukhov. She remembered that name all her life and never forgave him.

Vera Lotar-Shevchenko died in Novosibirsk in 1982. Her own phrase is written on her grave: "The life in which Bach is blessed."

The CEC reminded citizens of the responsibility for trying to change the state system by voting.

Xxx: The first change, the best that can be in school years.

You get up, a butterfly outside the window, nothing is seen, people begin to walk, the snow crash is heard from afar.

Under the blanket is warm, you raise your hand, it is cold... you have to get up.

You jump sharply, brr, run into the bath, hot water to wash, sharply back, gather, walk into the kitchen, and there sweet black tea and a baton with oil, or frame, sometimes even with sausage.

You crack everything for both cheeks and put on the winter uniform ahead.

Shoes, repair pants, they constantly flew out of socks, leaving an unpleasant nakedness.

Further shell, wrap stronger, so as to stretch the mask, scissors, filling the coat in them, after the jacket and hat.

The fighter is ready.

You go down the stairs 4th floor, 3, 2, 1 and here it is, the door, from the inside a little sloppy from the street, breathing you open the door...

And here it is, this moment when the frosty wind hits your face, but your uniform saves you.

And the way to school begins, along a marked road, looking around on the sides, you observe how the same soldiers are disembarking from other entrances.

The bad guys came out of their socks again.

How many cats don’t catch, and still have to feed.

I decided somehow, actually, what would be interesting to know from the parents (father - a reserve officer, mother - respectively, the wife of the officer), and why did they decide to have two children? Why was it on me to continue, and on my brother to stop? The answer to my question was simple, because there are four shelves in the train.